


Progress

by sunsetmog



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Not!Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-11
Updated: 2011-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:22:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Brendon keeps turning up in Spencer's jerk-off fantasies, Regan has poor burger-grilling skills, Brendon's a self-proclaimed Miss Congeniality, and Spencer's having trouble sorting out his laundry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Progress

**Author's Note:**

> Not!fic. Rediscovered this hidden in a file on my computer. I have no idea when I wrote it, or for who, or if I've shared it before. I don't think I have. It is likely that reni-days is responsible. She usually is. :D
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://sunsetmog-fics.livejournal.com/59247.html) on 22nd November 2010.

Spencer has some hazy idea which always shows up right in the middle of his jerk off fantasy, and it doesn't matter how detailed the fantasy is or how much effort he's put into thinking about beautiful girls with large breasts coming over to fix his copier, he gets half way through and then all of a sudden, the fantasy shifts and he's on his knees with Brendon's dick in his mouth.

And he can never get his original fantasy back because thinking about being on his knees with Brendon's dick in his mouth MAKES HIM COME, okay, and he tells himself it's because he got himself all worked up thinking about Olga the Russian Copier Engineer and her very skimpy uniform, but when he comes, it's always to Brendon sprawled across the sofa with his dick in Spencer's mouth.

So, he starts to get sidetracked during the day, because he needs to think of better, more engrossing fantasies that don't turn into Brendon with a hard-on, but it just dissolves into Spencer thinking about sex all day every day and that automatically shifts into Spencer trying not to think about Brendon naked all day every day - which is hard because Brendon likes to be naked at any given opportunity, and there is plenty of food for thought, and plenty of opportunity to view Brendon sprawled across the couch wearing only a pair of underwear, if that.

Spencer is slowly going crazy. He tries to explain to Shane one time what the inside of his head is like, but he has to explain using allusions and metaphors and NOT BRENDON'S NAME, which is hard because they're pretty drunk and high at the time, because they had just smoked up on the deck and were staring up at the sky. Spencer mostly tried not to stare at Brendon, passed out and snoring on the love seat, and instead tried to explain to Shane that he was having sexy thoughts about someone he shouldn't, and he couldn't stop thinking about it, even though he kept telling himself he couldn't.

Shane tells him to just give it up, and stop trying to tell himself he can't jerk off to whatever the fuck he wants to jerk off to, since it doesn't hurt anyone. Then he spends some quality time telling Spencer about how he likes girls in stockings and garters, which is all well and good, except for how Spencer doesn't need any more mental imagery of people he doesn't want to think about naked actually BEING NAKED, so when Shane starts talking about spanking, Spencer says LALALALALALA very loudly and sticks his fingers in his ears.

So Spencer decides to act on Shane's advice, even though it's stupid. He decides to jerk off thinking about Brendon, and prove to himself that it was a lame, stupid thing and that it wasn't actually BRENDON he wanted to suck off, it was just some weird short circuit in his brain that happened because they were just best friends and around each other a lot.

Except for how it's the best, quickest and strongest orgasm he's had in fucking ages, and he's hot and sticky and sweaty and breathing hard and it's because of BRENDON.

He takes it in his stride pretty well, he thinks. At least, he doesn't run up and down yelling, I'VE GOT A CRUSH ON MY BEST FRIEND AND MY DICK GETS HARD FOR HIM, which had to be a bonus in anyone's book.

Instead, he spends a little more quality time hanging out in the laundry room, watching the dryer do its stuff, and a little more time ignoring Brendon's calls, and some further time ignoring Shane's calls, and then he tries jerking off again, just to make sure it wasn't a fluke.

It wasn't.

It's like, Brendon's dick must be magic or something. It has to be, because Spencer was seriously considering giving up all of his other fantasies to concentrate purely on this one, which wasn't even a GOOD fantasy or anything. Nobody knocked at the door wearing a comedy uniform and then spent a long time bending over in front of him and asking him to hand them their spanner. It was just Brendon, sprawled across the couch, or the bed, or the living room floor, or one memorable jerk off occasion, the dining room table in Spencer's old house in Las Vegas. Brendon didn't even put on a stupid accent and pretend to be a workman. He was just Brendon, with his stupid hair and his stupid face and his stupid naked body and his stupid dick—and Spencer was hard again.

He texts Shane, "Got a boner for Brendon. Snd hlp."

Shane texts back, "RU DRUNK".

"NO. THINK I WANT TO SLEEP WITH BRENDON."

Shane calls him up. "THIS was the secret jerk off fantasy? Brendon?"

Which Spencer guesses is pretty embarrassing because Shane laughs a LOT, and Shane's voice is kind of high and squeaky.

Of COURSE Brendon is over at Shane's.

Except him over hearing is kind of an accident, since Shane isn't that friend, the one who outs Spencer on purpose. Brendon is supposed to be out on the deck with Regan, and he isn't supposed to be wandering indoors without his flip-flops on and without humming a little song or anything.

He is, in fact, moving with decidedly cat-like tread, which isn't like Brendon at all because he is - as everyone knows - a dog person. But that is how he overhears Shane laughing a lot and making fun of Spencer for wanting to suck Brendon's dick. It's when Shane says, "You want to ki-ss him, you want to ki-ss him, you want to suck Brendon's dick, Spence, stop trying to deny it -" well, that's when Shane looks up and sees Brendon standing in the doorway.

"Is that Spencer?" Brendon asks.

"You're not wearing flip-flops," is what Shane says, which is charmingly nonsensical and also kind of unhelpful to both Spencer and Brendon, since Spencer is having what sounds a lot like a panic attack at the other end of the phone, and Brendon is kind of decidedly pale and his mouth is hanging open.

"They're in the pool," Brendon explains. "I threw them in so that Regan wouldn't laugh at my burger grilling skills."

Shane doesn't ask for any more explanation. He is, after all, responsible for Spencer telling him in far too much careful, patient detail which setting he is currently choosing on his washing machine, and he is also responsible for Regan and Brendon being friends, which usually carries with it a higher cost than merely a pair of flip-flops.

"Spencer wants to suck my dick?" Brendon asks, in kind of a high-pitched voice. Shane winces, and he can hardly talk when it comes to high pitched.

"Uh," Shane says, and then remembers that outing people is bad, and outing best friends is worse. "Here," he says, thrusting the phone at Brendon's chest. "You talk to him. He's putting together a delicate load of laundry. Do you think that shirt with the pink stripes needs washing separately?"

Brendon looks decidedly nonplussed. "The one with the weird collar and the anchors by the button holes?" he asks, as Shane hands him the phone, "because dude, I washed that t-shirt with the pigeon on the back that I went back and got from that same store after you dicked off and wouldn't buy me pinkberry, and dude, that thing bled all over my fucking stuff, and I was going to wear that pigeon shirt today."

Spencer makes some kind of weird breathing noise, which is even weirder because Spencer is pretty sure the one thing he's not doing right now is breathing.

"I don't want to suck your dick," he says, really quickly.

Brendon says, "I wanted to wear that shirt. I was going to prove to Regan that pigeons fucking own clowns, but I couldn't, because everything I own is fucking PINK. Except for the pigeon shirt, because that's fucked, and isn't any color at all."

"Like, I don't even think about your dick," Spencer went on. "I don't want to suck it. Not even a little bit."

"Regan's wearing her clown shirt," Brendon says. "I fucking hate clowns. This is all your fault. You think if I came over there right now and got my dick out, you'd figure out whether you wanted to suck it or not?"

Spencer spends a little quality time sitting down on his laundry room floor. "What?" he says, sort of carefully. He's already standing up again and trying to figure out where he left the mouthwash, and if he could clean his teeth and not actually fall over in the process.

"Like, if my options are staying here with Regan's fucking clown shirt, and Shane being a dick, then I'd kind of rather come to your place and try and persuade you my dick's the kind you want to suck."

"Uh," Spencer manages. "You think I should wash that shirt separately?"

"Throw it in the fucking trash," Brendon says. "I think I wanna come over and see if we can't figure out a way for me and you to get our dicks out. You up for that?"

Spencer glances down at his shorts. "...Yeah," he says. In more ways than one, but he doesn't say that, because he's not the world's biggest loser, even if he has just put his laundry on on the wrong cycle because Brendon distracted him with talk of their dicks, and their dicks being naked together, and maybe hanging out and partying together.

Spencer needs to stop thinking about his dick in a party hat. "My dick isn't wearing a party hat," he says.

Brendon hums. "That's pretty good, Spence, keep up the good work." He punches Shane in the arm, and yells, "Clowns fucking SUCK" out at Regan on the deck. "I've seen your porn," Brendon tells him.

Spencer considers rolling over and dying.

"Yeah," Brendon goes on. "You think I need to pretend to be a mechanic or something? You've got a thing for uniforms."

"Have not," Spencer says. Although he kind of has. He wonders if Brendon's seen the one where -

"I've seen that one with those Russian girls in the hats," Brendon says. "Don't think I haven't."

Spencer considers wiping his hard drive and burning it, right this second. None of this was his fault. Someone had to stop Brendon from showing up and getting his dick out every fucking day of the week. "You need to stop getting your dick out so much," he says, weakly.

"You need to get yours out more," Brendon tuts. "Stop repressing your inbuilt sexuality, Spencer. We're at a very sensitive age. Get your balls out! Let them hang loose."

"My balls hang loose," Spencer protests. "They're very loose. The loosest."

"You are a very strange man," Brendon points out. "It's only because I've known you a long time I'm even coming over there and showing you my dick, you know. You're totally a freak and a loser with weird ideas about my dick."

"It's a very nice dick," Spencer says, without thinking.

"I know," Brendon sounds proud, which is because when he rates his dick against all of the others in the world, Brendon's comes out pretty damn high on the list. Like, not for length or breadth or whatever, but for enthusiasm. His dick is like the Miss Congeniality of the dick world.

His dick is totally congenial.

"My dick is totally congenial," he says.

"Is that like a disease?" Spencer asks. "Do I need to find the condoms?"

"No," Brendon shakes his head. "Like Sandra Bullock. My dick is like Sandra Bullock."

Spencer is a whole lot more confused than he was thirty seconds ago. "...Excellent comic timing?" he asks. He doesn't know why he says it either, except for how his dick appears to be standing to attention, and it's weird to be talking on the phone to Brendon when his dick is actually HARD, and it's even harder not to fucking jerk off. And it is NOT HIS FAULT he has a thing for uniforms.

"I don't have a thing for uniforms," he says, sulkily, because he thinks that if he doesn't talk about Sandra Bullock they can pretend it never happened.

"You totally do," Brendon says, happily. "Don't think I didn't check out everything in your porn folder. Police uniforms? Really?"

"Fuck off," Spencer says, gruffly. The squeak is totally accidental. "It is not my fault that I had to find something else to think about when I was jerking off."

"Dude, this is awesome." Brendon sounds delighted. "Talking about jerking off? This is awesome." Brendon wishes they'd done this years ago. "I totally like to jerk off really fucking wet, don't tell me you're one of those dry dudes."

"You are the most random and weirdest person I've ever met," Spencer groans. "Miss Congeniality, oh my fucking god. I get it now, ten fucking years later."

"My dick is very friendly, Spence. You should come over and shake it by the hand. Actually, I'm pulling into your driveway. You should take all your clothes off and come let me in."

Spencer downs half a bottle of mouthwash, chokes, and spits it all out across his basket of clean washing. He can't help but feel dismayed.

"Spence?" Brendon asks, concerned. "What just happened?"

"Nothing." Spencer says, coughing up a mixture of his lung and the remains of the mouthwash. "Everything's great. What color underwear are you wearing?"

"I am wearing no underwear at all," Brendon tells him. Outside, Spencer can hear Brendon slamming the car door. "I am hanging free and loose, just the way my dick likes it. Did I say? This is totally awesome that we're doing this, by the way. My dick totally has it bad for your dick."

Spencer answers the door with one eyebrow raised.

Brendon blinks. "Are you okay?" he asks. "You're all red-faced and shit."

"Small mouthwash incident," Spencer says. "Come in."

"You haven't got your dick out yet," Brendon says, tugging off his shorts even before Spencer's got his front door shut. Spencer doesn't exactly know his neighbors but he's pretty sure that having a guy come over and wave his dick around in his hallway with the door open is not going to endear him to the neighborhood "I have NEIGHBORS," he says, letting the door shut.

"And I have a dick," Brendon says, brightly. "I have needs, Spencer. Manly needs. In fact, my manly needs are like math. They equal you."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Do those lines ever work?"

"Depends," Brendon says. "You want to suck my dick, or not?"

Spencer spends a little quality time staring at Brendon's dick, and a little more time considering his orgasms just thinking about Brendon's dick, and then he considers very carefully the future of the band, and their friendship, and what this means for their future. "Bro," he says, "if you come and then fuck off afterwards, I swear I will come after you and punch you in the face."

"Fair enough," Brendon agrees. He kicks his shorts off and tugs his t-shirt off over his head. "My flip-flops are in Shane's pool," he explains, "because Regan can't flip burgers. I had to drive barefoot."

Spencer takes a deep breath, and then tugs his shirt off.

"Oh," Brendon says, as Spencer pulls his pants down. "Your dick! Look at it!"

"Not a fucking fairground attraction, Brendon," Spencer growls.

"But, look at it!" Brendon beams. "It's hard and everything. You think I can blow you after you blow me?"

Spencer dies a little, just for a while. "I guess," he says, noncommittally.

"Well, awesome," Brendon cocks his head to one side. "You don't need me to do some weird shit with handcuffs to get you going, do I? I saw that video with the—"

"No," Spencer says, far too quickly. "That was just. It was nothing."

"Not nothing," Brendon said. "All that jello must have cost quite a lot. And the mops."

Oh god, Spencer thinks. Oh god oh god oh god. "Will you shut up if I blow you?"

"Yep," Brendon says. "I also think we should pinky swear that blow jobs don't equal band splits."

"What do they equal?" Spencer asks, solemnly hooking his pinky around Brendon's and tugging a little, just for a moment.

"Orgasms, I think," Brendon says.

Spencer rolls his eyes again and pushes Brendon into the living room. The couch is full of shit, but in a move he's only ever seen in movies, he sweeps the whole lot off and onto the floor. There's the nice, comforting sound of his coffee mug hitting the floor as a pile of magazines land on top of it, and a well-timed stream of cold coffee slithers nicely across the carpet.

"Dude," Brendon says. "This is why my mom says not to put drinks on the floor."

"Your MOM." Spencer grinds his teeth, and drops a pile of magazines down on top of it to mop up the spill. "Sit down and shut up."

"I thought you liked it when we were noisy." Brendon grins, and sprawls across the couch, legs spread. It's decidedly annoying that it's the exact position that Spencer's spent quite a long time thinking about. He's just glad they don't have to talk about why blow jobs are awesome and why Brendon's dick is awesome too.

Instead, he just pushes Brendon's knees up and crawls in between them. He has a nice view of Brendon's ass, and believe it or not, he hasn't exactly considered what it would be like to kneel here and see someone's balls from this angle. It's all new, and kind of backwards and upside down.

Spencer cocks his head to one side, just to get a better look. "Dude," Brendon says, "Does this look like a fucking art gallery? You are not here to look at how awesome I am, that can totally wait until later."

Spencer spends a nice, long moment remembering what it was like before Brendon's dick entered his sexual fantasies. It was nice. There were a lot of people in uniforms.

"Though," Brendon says, thoughtfully. "If you wanted to tell me how big my dick is, then I'm probably not going to tell you no."

Spencer has a whole box of porn movies. He could be jerking off to any of them, and going through a whole box of tissues and nobody need ever know. Instead, he's uncomfortable, and kneeling in between Brendon's legs, and Brendon is quite happily resting his calves on Spencer's shoulders as if this happened every single day. He's also humming.

"You think you could pick a different song?" Spencer asks, because he's pretty sure that having Fall Out Boy accompany his first intra-band blow job is just gunning for something to go wrong.

Brendon starts humming Nine in the Afternoon, which is not exactly a good choice either.

Spencer rolls his eyes, and curls his hand around Brendon's thigh. Brendon's eyes darken, and he stops humming. Instead, he props himself up on his elbows. "You know," he says, "I'm pretty sure that it's impolite to give a blow job without kissing me first."

Spencer sits back down a moment, because he's pretty sure that the whole of today is actually something that he made up with his head. Like, he's had dreams where he's been naked and doing his laundry, and then afterwards something really embarrassing always happens, like his whole family show up, or it turns out his laundry room is the stage at his high school where he had to collect his diploma, and everyone was watching. And now Brendon is naked in front of him, and it's not like Brendon's dick is anything particularly new to Spencer, because, BRENDON, but. But. And now Brendon's suggesting there be kissing too.

Spencer isn't exactly sure how to process this. "Am I awake?" he asks, finally. "Did I make this shit up with my brain?"

Brendon snorts. "You want me to pinch you?"

"No," Spencer says, but Brendon does anyway, because Brendon's a shit.

"Ow," Spencer complains, but Brendon just beams. There's a shadow though, just at the corner of Brendon's smile, and Spencer recognizes it just like he recognizes a lot of stuff about Brendon that nobody else ever seems to notice.

"You can just blow me," Brendon says. "I mean, I'm not going to call off the deal just because you're too chicken to kiss me."

Spencer shakes his head. "No," he says. His mouth is kind of dry, and he licks his lips when he leans in. "Seriously," he says, "if you fucking come and run, then I'm coming after you and punching you in the face."

Brendon waits the barest moment too long before replying. "Dude," he says. "Orgasms mean hanging around for food, afterwards. Blow jobs and pizza, what the fuck. Nothing better."

"Sure," Spencer says. "Orgasms and pizza are what make the world go around."

"Men of the world unite," Brendon says, nodding. "No man can exist without the two great things in life. Orgasms, and pizza."

"You think beer should be in there too?" Spencer asks. "Beer and orgasms and pizza?"

"Oh, fuck, yes." Brendon grins. "You have the best ideas, Spence. But I've got kind of a congenial dick, here. You going to suck it, or what?"

"Or what," Spencer says, and closes the distance between them to press a kiss to Brendon's open mouth.

Brendon swallows back a sound, and then he's kissing Spencer back, enthusiastic and a little too wet. It's kind of like—Spencer expected Brendon to be a better kisser, okay? He's not bad, or anything, but he's kind of untidy and enthusiastic, and Spencer is so caught up in adjusting that he doesn't notice so much that Brendon's hand is snaking down between them. He yelps when Brendon's hand closes around his erection, which is kind of embarrassing as he's still actually kissing Brendon at the time.

Brendon snorts. "Dude, you are so fucking weird."

"Says you," Spencer complains, and he means to push Brendon away like he would do if they weren't completely naked and sprawled across Spencer's couch, but Brendon's skin is hot and the heel of Spencer's hand brushes against Brendon's nipple, and Brendon hisses in a breath.

Besides, Brendon's hand is actually TOUCHING SPENCER'S DICK, which is kind of mind-blowing anyway.

Spencer just rolls his eyes and kisses Brendon again, shifting the position this time so they're sprawled out next to each other, pressed together so that they don't tip off the couch and on top of the pile of couch crap that Spencer's already swept onto the floor. Brendon kisses better this time, still enthusiastic and still kind of wet, but either Spencer's more used it this time or whatever, but this time it's better.

"You were going to blow me," Brendon says brightly, after a while. His reddened cheeks and messed up hair suggest that he didn't exactly mind the interlude. "My dick's totally up for that." He grins, and points down. "Up, look. Up."

"Oh my god," Spencer says, but he can't actually stop looking at Brendon's dick. "Yes," he says, "yes it is."

"You know what that means," Brendon goes on. "Blow jobs Sucking me off."

"Aye aye sir," Spencer says, without thinking, because Brendon's dick kind of has his attention right now.

Brendon makes a noise that is actually a cackle.

"Oh my god, I TOLD you you had a thing for uniforms. You're so fucking weird." He sounds delighted. "Is that a thing? That could be a thing. Do you need me to dress up?"

Spencer thinks it's possible he should never be allowed to talk again. It's certainly what got him into this mess. If he'd just stayed quiet, things could have stayed just the way they were.

The notable difference, however, would be the lack of opportunity for Spencer to finally get on his knees with Brendon's dick in his mouth, which, let's face it, had turned into a THING.

"I'm going to blow you now," Spencer said, measuredly.

"Awesome," Brendon says. "You want me to order you around, or what?"

"I'm pretty sure I want you to never speak again," Spencer tells him, shuffling awkwardly down the couch so he could be faced with the very real reality of Brendon's congenial dick.

"Yeah, yeah, that's what they all say," Brendon tells him. "Remind me to call Regan, will you? She needs to get my flip-flops out of the fucking—"

Spencer takes a deep breath and takes Brendon's dick in his mouth

Brendon's skin has a hot, kind of musky taste to it, a little familiar, but more pronounced than Spencer expected. It's weird, and his jaw aches right from the get-go, because it's not like Spencer goes around blowing dudes every night of the fucking week, or anything. In fact, he's pretty sure he couldn't go around blowing guys every night of the fucking week, because he's pretty sure that his jaw would seize up. He'd have to walk around with a mouth that wouldn't close, and that would be really fucking weird. He'd have to drink things through really big straws, and buy a food processor.

"Uh," Brendon says. "You've stopped."

"Have not," Spencer says, which sounds a little muffled because he's still actually got Brendon's dick in his mouth. "Just taking a short, scheduled break."

He starts again, kind of slower this time, and the ache in his jaw isn't quite so weird this time. In fact, it kind of feels—good? The taste of Brendon on his tongue is good too, because Spencer's sentence-building skills at this point are a little distracted, and the best he can manage is Good, Really Good, and Really Really Good.

Right now, he's trying to decide between Really Good and Really Really Good, and the decision's made for him when Brendon slides his hands into Spencer's hair and pulls a little, tugging him nearer.

In fact, it goes straight to Spencer's dick, and Spencer spends a quality moment wishing that he had an extra hand, one he could dedicate to jerking off, so that he could keep his balance with the other two. Next time they're totally doing this on the floor, and not on the tiniest couch in the world.

"This couch is really tiny," he says, sitting back on his heels and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His mouth feels funny. He thinks he sounds weird.

"Oh my fucking god," Brendon says, and Spencer realizes that Brendon looks fucked up and sweaty and hot. It's clearly a look that goes straight to Spencer's dick. "Who stops in the middle of a fucking blow job? Are you stupid?"

"Clearly," Spencer says. "It is not my fault that I am not used to this, okay." He stretches his jaw wide.

Brendon makes a face, and then beams. "You totally just said that my dick was big. I'm telling everyone you think my dick is totally huge."

"Do not," Spencer says. "Well, it's not like a fucking monster, or anything."

"Of course not," Brendon says. "Totally congenial. No monsters." He makes grabby hands towards Spencer's arms, reaching out and pulling him down. "I think you were busy."

"The busiest," Spencer agrees. He ducks down, and then pauses. "You'd better blow me next."

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Brendon says, solemnly.

Spencer hums his approval, because he kind of likes it when Brendon's dick kind of—jumps.

He does it again, taking Brendon's dick down a little further, and he only chokes a little bit, which is an achievement.

Nobody dies giving a blow job, Spencer knows this. He's not worried about the whole choking thing. Everybody gets a little red-faced.

(He thinks he's going to check on the internet later to see how many people actually die giving blow jobs. There has to be someone out there who did.)

"Fuck, can you just stop thinking?" Brendon asks. "Every time you start to think you stop fucking sucking me off, and like, I can tell, you know. You think I haven't known you for years?"

Spencer rolls his eyes, partly because his tongue is kind of busy and partly because he's actually kind of touched that Brendon knows this shit about him.

Spencer is quite convinced that this must be the longest blow job in the world, because he's been down in between Brendon's legs for at least a week when Brendon says, "—Wow," in a strangled, high-pitched voice and then comes.

He spends a moment, digesting the taste. "You took your time," he says, finally.

"Shut up," Brendon says. He's wiping his forehead with some t-shirt that he found on the floor. "I was enjoying myself, okay?"

Spencer makes a series of weird faces, wondering if his jaw is out of alignment. "I think I pulled a muscle."

"Wow," Brendon says again. "What, really?"

"No, not really, you fucking dick." Spencer points at his own erection. "You want to reciprocate any time soon?"

"Dude, a guy just doesn't get the cool down time around here, does he?" Brendon looks pretty relaxed about the whole thing, though, and he tumbles into Spencer's lap, sticky and sweaty and smelling kind of awesome. Spencer realizes that Brendon's also wiped his dick on Spencer's t-shirt, which he is going to hold against him at any point other than this one, because Brendon is kissing him, hands in his hair.

"That was my shirt," Spencer complains, because he can't not.

"I'm going to suck your dick," Brendon says. "Shut up."

Spencer can't think of a single thing wrong with that statement, and he flops back onto the cushions as Brendon positions himself between Spencer's legs.

"Hey," Brendon says, a few minutes later, when Spencer's red faced and breathless and about ready to come, "you want to make this a thing? A blow job sharing, non band breaking, sexy thing?"

"Sexy thing?" Spencer splutters, since this is not the best time for Brendon to be taking a break from the matter in hand, namely, Spencer's dick.

Brendon shrugs. "I've got a nice dick, you've got a nice dick, who knows. Together we could have a good time."

"With our dicks," Spencer says. He blinks. "Sure," he says. "So long as you never stop for a conversation in the middle of a blow job again."

"Oh," Brendon says, and grins, ducking his head. "Deal." He wraps his hand around the base of Spencer's dick, and takes the head back into his mouth.

Spencer groans, tips his head back, and comes. "Okay," he manages, a while later.

Brendon clambers untidily up the couch and flops down next to him, one arm across Spencer's stomach. He grins, and presses a lazy kiss to the underside of Spencer's jaw. "Awesome."

"Awesome," Spencer agrees, and pulls him up for another kiss.


End file.
